Rooted Infatuation

This is my poem in response to the prompt #infatuation by my dearest made me question what is infatuation. And is infatuation on a lower scale than love? At first glance we would say, sure. But infatuation can be gripping and it can work as a strong current. So, only you can tell what you have felt in your heart. And in the end, infatuation might lead you to love….for your own amazing self!
Rooted Infatuation

Our spirit and our torsos only met twice.

We carelessly exchanged our fluids in those times.

It barely lasted all the brevity of months

But the learning granted, cannot be trumped.

Rejection enabled me to find myself.

In hate, I met self-love, which cannot be repelled.

Infatuation is just the beginning of love.

It gets stamped on your face like that stubborn silly smirk.

It’s an invisible feather tickling on your skin,

Dilating your pupils and chattering the chin.

I ask thee: was this infatuation

Or was it all sheer misconception?

I much rather call this – a stunted love.

A love that never got – the chance to grow.


A Sister to You

 It’s incredible how losses propel poetry! Loss inspires and gives you a reason to write. At the end, it is not a complete loss, for you have just created something. Alchemy, thus, happens.


Yes…you are gone. I need no remembering. I hear this silent gong No greetings in the morning. I wonder what tragedies you battle alone, The worries corrupting your soul, Consuming time, as questions circle, Resuming us to an inaudible counsel.

I wonder, why can I not take them down?! Like an older sister to a younger brother, Someone red nosed your clown. I would trample on their faces, like on ground!

If only I knew, this bane is part of your twisted doom. Ironically, their tomb will lay beside you. Though many mountains I have moved, Against self-reproof, There is nothing that I can do. You cannot seem to slice, the thorns out of your spine. You must learn to live with bruise.

In your exclusive grieving cocoon I cannot embrace your bag of bones. So I cast a rune, to make you immune. While dreaming we fly, out in the infinite sky, On clouds of assexual love, reaching new highs, Only me and you! Eclipsing the moon…as our friendship balloons.

How to Flirt with a Poet

Poets are lovers of words
If you are going to approach
Make sure that you boast
About your vocabulary.
Use everything that you carry
Use everything that you know.

Poets like verbal displays
Being able to express how you are feeling
Otherwise, we won’t hear what you are speaking. “Hey beautiful” is just a mere sentence that echoes.

That might just mean, they don’t really know how a poet operates.

Poets adore serenades
We like to play with the words
We substitute them with grace
We like to hear definitions
We paint life with letters that won’t erase.
But when you get simplified sentences,
Copied and pasted.
Everywhere, in your space.
It frustrates you to some disgrace.

Poets see the world with creative variance.
We seek novelty, diversity and new experience.
Not the simplification and limitations that the superficiality of a “hey gorgeous” brings.

Next time you come near
Make sure to sing me some epic hymn.

A dream-not of you

The process of writing poetry is fascinating. I have a considerable amount of stream of consciousness lines to work on and weave into a poem. Nonetheless, sometimes the flow does not come so I leave them aside. This poem came from a tag on instagram for the hashtag #youneverleft.

I love how free flow poetry works. One line pushes another and there you have it. You don’t really know where it will lead you to. In truth, the last lines came first and I built my poem from these pillars.
Just a reminder: no one but yourself can make your dreams come true. But this line just alludes to the fact, there was a wish that was never fulfilled. 👇

A dream-not of you

The rising shine of morning rays
Tickles the eyes, hatching for the day.
The first thought and memory that delineates my mental landscape
Are not yours, they are mine to gratify and celebrate.

Finally, I achieve peace.
No more worrying, “does he love me?!” The focus is, again, internal
The breaths and heartbeats make this poetry’s symphony.
Our story will remain stamped on my cells, the body’s journal,
For the learning does not die, it keeps on coming.
Forever ingrained in the patterns of the unconscious.

Then, I realise,
You have never left, never really withdrew,
That is because you never came
To make my dreams come true.

Virtual Harakiri




You’ve left this digital space
It seems, not only I, devastate.
This realm of virtual overwhelm
Where you used to co-create.
I mourn a death, like they do in old time sakes.
Only, the information is not delayed.
This notification, is heralded in a fast pace.
You can see it, straight away.
Like a slap in the face,
A goodbye note that is left
And cannot be retraced.
You are now, more gone than before.
There’s no more peeping through window blinds, no reason for.
When the person exits your virtual world
You cannot knock on their door anymore.
They leave a blank space in your analogue globe.
Like an empty house, where memories are forlorn.
You type and retype and seek for a shortcut
But you only waste time,
Trepidation waves in the gut.
Suddenly, you have a hole, between your chest and bones.
Then, you learn
Against death, there’s no winning.
Let the questions burn
Ignorance keeps your head from spinning!



The lessons we learn in life.

This quote goes really well with the teachings of Lao Tzu:

Rushing into action, you fail.
Trying to grasp things, you lose them.
Forcing a project to completion,
you ruin what was almost ripe.

Therefore the Master takes action
by letting things take their course.
He remains as calm at the end
as at the beginning.
He has nothing,
thus has nothing to lose.
What he desires is non-desire;
what he learns is to unlearn.
He simply reminds people
of who they have always been.
He cares about nothing but the Tao.
Thus he can care for all things.

Taken from the Tao Te Ching.

The Bestower

Seek me out and you shall find
A better way to spend your time.
Call me in and you shall see,
I am not as troubled as I seem.

I’ll envelop you in my arms
Careful not to squeeze too hard.
Warm you up with my breath
Human-heater at its best!

So come pretty thing,
Come rest on my shoulder
I’ll take you by the hand,
I’ll follow you over.
Just give me a lead
I have so much love to give,
If you come to me, you will receive.



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